Washed
by ficlofenac
Summary: Aveline and Merrill negotiate an unexpectedly domestic situation.


It was the panic and the detergent. Much was different in the Alienage that morning, but those were the things that stood out. The elves were either sprinting or striding, depending on how concerned they were with concealing their urgency. Nobody was simply walking. Nobody was simply _talking_ either. The chatter in the air was terse and clipped. Every verbalisation made was a message, was a warning, was a direction. With brisk terror the community was protecting itself.

The Templars were going door to door.

Which explains the panic, thought Aveline to herself, but what explains all the laundry?

Washing lines hung from everything except the Vhenadahl, cobwebbing from building to building and supporting a volume of laundry in excess of what Aveline would have assumed the Alienage's residents owned or required. It seemed as if every elf in Kirkwall had decided that today was washday and that they should wash the clothes of their neighbouring humans too. And then… the Templars had shown up? To arrest them all for laundry? This made no sense.

Aveline became aware of the situation about twenty minutes ago. A runner had brought word to the Keep that the Templars had entered the Alienage mob-handed. Armed and armoured and knocking on doors, asking questions, searching. Unsure if she should take a patrol of her guards and risk becoming complict in something, or a party of her friends and risk escalating something, Aveline decided to go alone. Both symbolically and practically it was her office held the keys to the Alienage. She should have a look. Just to see what was going on.

Which was…what? Had the Chantry found a neglected verse that spoke against cleanliness and the elves decided to stage a massive display of civil disobedience? She was none the wiser.

Knowing that what she was about to do would probably add more to her stock of questions than it would her stock of answers, Aveline crossed the square and knocked on Merrill's door. There was no response. She hadn't expected one. This was not a morning a Blood Mage should be counted on for indiscriminate hospitality.

"Merrill!" she hissed through the door, "It's me!"

There was a creak, a flash of green, a grabbing sensation and a sudden acceleration. Aveline found herself in Merrill's bedroom.

"Did you just pull me in here with that creepy vine spell of yours?"

"Aveline! Oh, I'm ever so glad you've come."

"Did you actually just pull me in here with the creepy vine spell?"

"I couldn't risk coming to the door, could I? The Templars are looking for me."

"For you?" After this many years undetected Aveline had grown to imagine her companion somehow invisible to the knights. "Merrill, what have you…"

"Well, alright. Not looking for me. Looking for _that_."

Aveline gazed with dread upon the Eluvian. Relic of another age, portal to another world, stealer of men and corruptor of bodies. The huge fractured mirror dominated the small bedchamber and radiated a desolate menace.

"No," said Merrill, "Not that. This over here."

She pointed at a washing machine.

"Now what is this?"

"It's a machine that does washing. You see that little door there at the front? You put all the dirty clothes in there that you can fit, and then you put some more in, and then you try and close it and you press that button there. Then the clothes come out all clean in only a couple of minutes. I think it's a magical washing machine. Do you think it's a magical washing machine? It goes so fast, see. I'd be certain that it's a magical washing machine, but I've never seen a washing machine that isn't magical before so I can't really compare."

The Captain of the Guard walked slowly around the device. It had her full attention. It was about the size of four treasure chests put together and its stark whiteness set it apart from the rough browns of the slum dwelling.

"Merrill," she said sternly, "Here's what I think has happened. I think you've been letting everyone in your community wash their clothes in your magical box. Haven't you?"

The elf nodded.

"And it's got back to the Templars that eldrich sorceries are at work in the Alienage, hasn't it?"

"The Establishment would never stand this disruption for long. Lowtown is wearing cleaner clothes than Hightown. My washing machine challenges and subverts the whole social order of Kirkwall."

Aveline raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound at all like Merrill. Possession? No. Wait a minute. Not possession.

"You've been talking to Anders."

"No!" Indignance. Pause. Capitulation. "Well, maybe a little bit. But Anders doesn't even like the washing machine. He says it's blood magic."

"And _is_ it?" Aveline tried to raise the eyebrow she already had raised. She'd lost track of what her face was doing.

"It is good with blood. But also with oil, coffee and other stubborn stains."

"BLUUUU-UH-UDDD…" said the washing machine.

"Can't shift pollen though for some reason." said Merrill quickly.

"BLUUUU-UH-UDDD…" said the washing machine.

"It makes that little noise. I think it's just its pipes."

It was an uncomfortable moment. Aveline had wrestled sufficient control of her facial expressions to manage a devastating look of disappointment. Merrill squirmed. The washing machine hungered for blood. Some Templars attacked.

Six of them crashed through the door, shouted some largely accurate accusations and tried to kill Merrill and Aveline using swords. Merrill and Aveline were having none of this and killed them instead, using a combination of swords and creepy vine spells. Then there was a second wave of Templars. The ladies killed them too. Aveline got a little injured but she had plenty of potions on her so there was no real cause for alarm.

"Where did your machine even come from anyway?" Aveline asked as she pulled her sword out the guts of the last of their assailants.

"Oh, it came from out of the Eluvian. Sometimes, when I line the shards up right, little things fall through into the world. Broken bits of jewellery. Strange insects. Domestic appliances."

"You know you have to get rid of it, don't you?"

Merrill walked into her front room and peered out of the tiny window. All across the alienage she could see the gleaming linen of the elves flying like flags of stolen victory.

"I know. It was nice for a bit though. Having something people want. Being helpful. Nice."

Her friend joined her at the window.

"We'll take it through the back streets and throw it in the docks."

"Yes."

"But before we do," said Aveline, "My clothes are covered with persistent gore from those Templars. Can I give them a quick rinse?"

"I'll show you all the settings!" said Merrill.

"BLUUUU-UH-UDDD…" said the washing machine.


End file.
